


broke each other's hearts again

by rsadelle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 15:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsadelle/pseuds/rsadelle
Summary: "What are you doing here?"Harry licks his lips. "I heard you broke up with Gigi."Zayn crosses his arms over his chest. "So you, what? Came to gloat?""No." Harry rocks back on his heels. "I came to tell you my heat starts tomorrow."Zayn takes an incautiously large inhale. He can smell it, familiar and tempting. It's a bad idea. But tempting.





	broke each other's hearts again

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Jonas Brothers' "Tonight."

Zayn answers the door even though he's not expecting anyone because things are different at the farm from the way they are in the city. He's really not expecting Harry, wide-legged trousers, white t-shirt, sunglasses holding back floppy hair.

"What are you doing here?"

Harry licks his lips. "I heard you broke up with Gigi."

Zayn crosses his arms over his chest. "So you, what? Came to gloat?"

"No." Harry rocks back on his heels. "I came to tell you my heat starts tomorrow."

Zayn takes an incautiously large inhale. He can smell it, familiar and tempting. It's a bad idea. But tempting.

"I can drive back into the city and get a heat room in a hotel instead," Harry says.

Zayn takes another breath. Such a bad idea. He steps back and lets Harry in.

He sees the flash of triumph across Harry's face and sets his shoulders against it. Harry won't be that smug tomorrow.

Zayn leads Harry up the stairs and lets him into the heat room. Mini fridge, easily cleaned surfaces, big bed, en suite two steps from the bed.

Harry takes a deep breath, and raises his eyebrows.

Zayn shrugs, because of course he had it cleaned after Gigi left.

"Make yourself at home or whatever." He leaves Harry there and goes out to the barn to lean against Cool's side for a bit. Fucking Harry, here for his fucking heat.

 

Zayn makes dinner. Harry comes downstairs when it's almost done and sets the table for two. It's awkward, right up until it's not. Harry's face goes flushed more than makes sense for the level of spice Zayn used, and his eyes start to get dark.

Zayn takes a deeper breath, searching out the scent over the smell of the food. It's stronger than earlier, deeper. Not quite all the way there, but definitely a heat coming on.

"You said tomorrow," Zayn says.

Harry looks him straight in the eyes. "Alpha." It's an explanation and a provocation all at once.

They continue eating in silence that's now charged instead of awkward. Zayn remembers this, winding each other up without saying a word.

Harry helps clear up after dinner, until Zayn sends him away with a growled, "Go wait for me."

Zayn finishes putting dishes in the dishwasher, takes a few deep breaths without the immediate hit of Harry's heat scent, and smokes what will probably be his last cigarette until Harry's heat is over.

The door to the heat room is open. Harry's framed in it. He's naked, on his back on the bed. Knees up and legs spread so Zayn can see where he's getting wet. Hand wrapped around his cock. Zayn's had that cock in his hands, in his mouth, in his arse.

Harry's scent is stronger when Zayn steps into the room. Not quite full-on heat yet, but there's nothing to disguise it in the clean air of the heat room. It even cuts through the lingering smoke from Zayn's cigarette.

Zayn closes the door and leans against it, arms crossed.

Harry whines. "Zayn."

It's tempting to just go over there and get his cock in Harry. Zayn has a lot of practice resisting him.

"Show me," Zayn says. "Show me how much you want it."

Harry huffs out a frustrated breath. Then he does as he's told. He strokes his hand up and down his cock. It's slow, at first, a hypnotic slide. It gets faster, harder. He stops stroking his whole cock and focuses on his foreskin. The tip of his cock disappears and reappears under it.

He whines again, stretches, pushing his hips up and arching his chest. He's had photographers, stylists, Zayn tell him what looks good, and he does that. His neck is bared and stretched. He's wetter. Zayn can smell it. He grips his arms to keep from reaching out.

"Show me," Zayn says again.

Harry whines, and he starts talking. "Please, Zayn." He twists against the bed. "I need you. I need your knot."

He brings his other hand down, between his legs, and cries out when he puts two fingers into himself. They squelch where he's wet when he moves them in and out. Harry's fingers aren't small - Zayn knows that from experience - but he shoves them into himself like it's not enough.

"Fuck," he says. "Fuck. Can you please just-" He breaks off to arch against his fingers, moaning.

Zayn knows exactly where he touched himself inside to make him make that sound. Zayn's fingers twitch with the sense memory of being the one to touch it for him.

"Alpha," Harry pants. "I need your knot." It could be the cheesiest sort of porn dialogue, but Zayn knows the difference between what Harry sounds like when he's imitating bad porn and what he sounds like when he's sincere. He's twisting on the bed, fucking himself, wanking himself, baring his neck, nipples pointed. He's sincere.

"Come," Zayn says. "Come for me first."

There's a flash on Harry's face, anger crossing it like a summer storm. It doesn't last, because he's on the edge of heat where nothing's more important than getting knotted, and Zayn just told him what he has to do to get it.

He works harder for it, thrusting, wanking, hips coming off the bed, neck bared in just the right way for Zayn to bite down on it if he went over there.

He doesn't. He waits, watching. Not touching himself, because the sight and the scent have him hard already, and he's not going to come until he's inside Harry.

"Please," Harry begs from the bed. "Please." He twists against his fingers. It's going to be hard, this close to his full heat, to come without an alpha doing it for him.

"You can do it," Zayn says. "Come for me and you can have my knot."

Harry sobs with it, works harder, pushing his fingers into himself over and over again. The moment he starts to come, Zayn steps away from the door. He strips as he crosses to the bed.

Harry's still shaking and he makes a whiny, protesting noise when Zayn grabs his wrist and pulls, making him take his fingers out of himself. Zayn ignores it and flips him over.

Harry only barely catches himself with his hands on the bed, but his body knows what to do; he tucks his knees under himself, raises his arse.

Zayn enters him in one long push. Harry shudders, moans. His scent changes, crashing into full heat.

Nothing compares to being balls-deep in an eager omega in heat, and Harry is eager. He shoves back into every one of Zayn's thrusts and keeps up a steady stream of pleas and moans.

Zayn's so close, just from this, and he knows how to get them both right where they need to be. He reaches beneath Harry and wraps his hand around his damp cock.

Harry's breath catches, and then he moans louder as Zayn wanks him. He gets hard, because heat will do that.

"Please," Harry says. "Please, please, please," all of it droning into a single, indistinct noise.

Zayn doesn't bother reassuring him with words. He uses his body instead, thrusting all the way in every time, wanking Harry swift and hard. He presses in close when his knot starts to form, reveling in the way Harry feels so tight around it, the way Harry can't stay still, moving against the knot to feel it.

He used to tell Zayn how much he loved that, feeling the pull of Zayn's knot against his rim, knowing he was getting the knot he so desperately needed in the height of his heat.

Zayn's body remembers just how to move his hand, how to make Harry come on his knot.

Harry cries out when Zayn gets him there, and tightens around Zayn's knot.

Zayn bites down on Harry's shoulder and lets the pleasure of it wash him away until everything goes white.

He knows what to do while they're tied, and he easily rolls them to the side, arms tight around Harry because Harry likes to be held after he's been knotted.

 

They fuck for three days straight. They tie, separate, tie again. They fall in and out of sleep. Zayn makes sure they eat and stay hydrated.

He takes Harry from behind, on his hands and knees on the bed, spooned up behind him, bent over the edge of the bed, once with Harry on his lap riding him. Only the last time, when he can tell that they're coming to the end of Harry's heat, when Harry's eyes are wet with tears and he's begging, does Zayn put Harry on his back.

It's almost too much, fucking Harry through his heat while looking down at him. His eyes meeting Zayn's, his tongue licking his lips, the familiar tattoos and the unfamiliar ones on display for Zayn.

They haven't done much kissing, but Zayn gives in to it now, bending over Harry and opening Harry's mouth with his tongue. In all the important ways, Harry still tastes the same. Zayn drinks it in. It's the last time, so he lets himself get lost in it, lets himself kiss and kiss and kiss until his lips are as sore as the rest of him and he can't breathe.

"Zayn, alpha," Harry protests when Zayn takes a break from kissing him to breathe. They're not tied yet, still fucking, hips moving together relentlessly but gently.

Zayn lets himself say Harry's name, say, "Omega," as possessively as he ever has as he slides his open mouth along Harry's jaw, down to his throat.

Harry comes when Zayn bites him, tendon between neck and shoulder, harder than he has since Harry first showed up at his door, not hard enough to break the skin.

Harry comes and he wails with it, tears sliding down his cheeks, grasping at Zayn with every part of his body he can.

Zayn holds him through it, fucks him through it, knots him and bites him again, wraps his arms around him, comes with his mouth on Harry's neck, with Harry's name in his ear, with Harry held as close as he can.

Harry falls asleep while they're still tied.

Zayn strokes his fingers over Harry's face, memorizing what it looks like in sleep now. Then he realizes what he's doing. He sighs, and shifts them around, so they're on their sides, a little more comfortable. He keeps looking at Harry, blinking slowly, until he falls asleep too.

 

Zayn's alone when he wakes up, but he can hear the sound of the shower in the bathroom.

He gets out of bed, opens the door for the first time since Harry's heat started. He takes one last deep breath of the smell of the two of them mixed together before he leaves. He has a shower in his own bathroom, scrubbing off three days of sweat and come and Harry.

Harry's downstairs when Zayn comes down. He's made coffee. Zayn's careful that their fingers don't touch when he takes the cup Harry offers him.

He opens a window and lights up a cigarette, feeling the rush of caffeine and nicotine return him to the real world. His phone is full of things he needs to deal with after being unreachable for three days.

He keeps his eyes on that, not on Harry.

Harry leaves the kitchen. Zayn can hear his footsteps going up the stairs, then coming back down. There's a thump that's probably Harry setting his bag down next to the door, then his footsteps coming into the kitchen again.

Zayn looks up, keeping his face as impassive as he can.

Harry's mouth twists. "Thanks anyway," he says.

Zayn nods. "Yeah."

Harry shakes his head, an annoyed gesture Zayn remembers, and turns around. The front door clicks shut behind him.

Zayn lights another cigarette with shaking fingers. He calls the cleaning service to arrange for a rush job on cleaning the heat room, then pours himself another cup of coffee and takes it out to the barn to check on Cool.

The cleaning service is there when he comes back to the house. He doesn't want to see them, or hear them. He sits on the porch and lights a cigarette, then scrolls through his phone and calls a number he hopes is still good.

"What," Louis says flatly when he picks up.

"I fucked up," Zayn tells him.

"Oh?" Louis says, sharp and mean. "Did you tell another interviewer that you never made friends in the band?"

That's not what he's meant anytime he's said it, but there are more important things to talk about. "I knotted Harry."

Louis exhales. "Yeah?"

"Through his heat," Zayn says.

Louis lets out a dark chuckle. "Fucking, of course you did. Why are you calling me?"

Zayn scowls. "Because I don't know what the fuck that was about. Does he, like, want that? Or was he just here because he knows Gigi wasn't?"

"How the fuck should I know?"

"I don't know." Zayn sucks on his cigarette. "Thought he might've said."

Louis laughs again, bitterly. "I haven't talked to Harry in two years."

Zayn nearly drops his cigarette in his shock. "What? But I thought-"

"Mate," Louis says, "when he broke up the band, he really broke up the band."

Zayn chews that over for a moment. It's not like he didn't know Harry had to have been the one to drive that, but he didn't realize. Louis's quiet and lets him think.

"Is he talking to any of you?" Zayn asks.

"Dunno," Louis says. Zayn can almost see his shrug. "Maybe Niall. We don't talk about Harry."

Zayn's silent, taking another drag on his cigarette.

"He finished what you started," Louis says, "only he did it better."

*

Zayn flies to LA. He takes a private plane, arranges for a car to meet him at the airport, does his best to stay inconspicuous.

He gives the driver an address he's never been to. The gate code, the one that was set for his exclusive use at a different house, works. He has the driver wait, in case he needs to turn around and leave.

He rings the bell and waits. He'd light a cigarette, but he knows he'd have to put it out once the door opens.

Harry opens the door, stands framed in the gap between it and the doorjamb. "Zayn," he says, not quite a question.

"My rut's coming up," Zayn says. "Tomorrow." He looks up at Harry through his eyelashes. "Tonight if you let me in."

Harry opens the door all the way. Zayn waves the driver off and follows him in. He follows him all the way up the stairs to a heat room. It's not as sterile as Zayn likes his to be. It's clean, though, and the only lingering scent is Harry's.

"I'm cooking," Harry says before he leaves Zayn there.

Zayn checks out the room, makes sure he knows where everything is, that it's stocked for a few days. Then he does a slow tour of the house. He prowls the edges, giving in to the instinct to make sure they're safe, that nothing is going to interrupt them. He locks all the doors as he comes across them, and cuts through the kitchen last.

"Go outside if you're going to smoke," Harry says. "It'll be ready in," he glances at his phone, "seven minutes."

Zayn spends seven minutes outside, smoking a cigarette, checking his phone for what will probably be the last time - he can feel the edge of his rut shivering under his skin - and considering smoking something else. Just because he didn't see Harry's stash on his tour through the house doesn't mean it isn't there, and it's legal here.

Probably not a good idea on the edge of rut.

Zayn locks the door when he comes inside. He sits at the table and lets Harry serve him. Not something they did all the time, but usually on the edge of Zayn's rut. It helps. It sets the mood, reminds them both of what they are.

Rut is different from heat. There's the drive to fuck, to knot, but more than that is the drive to take, to possess.

He watches Harry while they eat. His hands and his mouth and his neck.

He can feel it, the edge of his rut. It's going to be tonight. He's going to hang on until they finish eating, because they'll need their strength. Harry will need his strength. But he's going to watch.

When they're done, Zayn stalks Harry to the kitchen, watches him put things away, vibrates with tension because he can't hold onto it much longer.

Harry dumps the plates in the sink, holds up one finger. "Just let me." He does something on his phone, locks it, drops it on the counter. Then he turns around.

Zayn doesn't know what he smells like to Harry, but he can tell it's doing something to him. Harry's leaning toward him. He can smell Harry, not like when he's in heat, but when he's turned on outside of it, when he wants to get knotted outside of it.

Zayn grabs him, one hand digging deep into Harry's biceps. He doesn't drag Harry to the heat room, because Harry goes willingly, shepherded into it by Zayn, wet scent getting stronger as they go.

Zayn snaps the lock shut, as isolated and safe as he can make them. He has to force himself to pry his fingers away from Harry.

It's worth it; Harry strips when Zayn lets go of him, and Zayn strips too, and then they're naked and Harry's wet and hard and Zayn pushes him onto the bed.

He wants to take, to have Harry, but like this, right now, he also needs Harry to know indisputably that it's Zayn taking him. He pushes Harry onto his back, climbs over him.

He bites. He leaves a mark on Harry's neck, one on his chest, one on his hip. Harry whines and writhes beneath his mouth.

Harry's hip is too close to the scent of his cock, his hole. Zayn inhales his scent and moves up on his exhale to cover Harry. He needs to take, to possess, to have him. He needs Harry to know it's him.

Harry cants his hips up, begging with his body as much as he is with his mouth, asking for Zayn to take him.

Zayn plunges into him, watching with deep satisfaction as pleasure rolls across Harry's face.

He takes, fucking into Harry again and again.

He knots, and comes.

Harry writhes on his knot, cock standing up thick and hard between them.

Zayn knocks Harry's hand away when he tries to touch himself. Maybe another time, but not when he's so driven to take.

He wanks Harry, stripping his cock hard and ruthless until Harry comes on his knot, whole body going lax with pleasure in the aftermath of it.

 

Zayn takes Harry on his hands and knees, on his stomach, on his knees gripping the bed frame, on his hands and knees over and over again.

At the end of it, he says, "Last time." He rubs his fingers over Harry's slick hole. "Can you do it?" 

"Yes," Harry says. He pushes his hips weakly against Zayn's fingers.

Zayn uses his other hand to brush Harry's sweaty hair away from his face. "Are you sure?" He feels unbearably tender after so much time spent making Harry indelibly his. Harry's skin is littered with his marks. He's had Zayn's come on and in him. He smells like Zayn's.

Harry nuzzles into his hand. "Please."

Zayn turns them onto their sides, spoons up against Harry's back, wraps his arms around him. It's long and slow and gentle. He knots Harry and does the work of moving his hips so his knot tugs against Harry's rim while he wanks him off.

Harry nestles back into him, so trusting and wanting.

Zayn can feel his rut starting to wane, satisfied by having Harry be so completely his.

 

Harry sleeps longer than Zayn. Heat tires them both out. Rut leaves Zayn feeling exhilarated and powerful.

He sleeps through Zayn showering. He sleeps through Zayn putting a banana and a bottle of water on the nightstand. He sleeps through Zayn looking down at him, torn between the need to leave and the desire to touch him, to cup his cheek or brush his hair back. He sleeps through Zayn taking a last deep breath of the room that's bathed in their combined scents. He sleeps through Zayn calling for a car and smoking a cigarette out front while he waits for it.

Before he gets on the plane, Zayn texts Louis, _Fucked up again._

When he lands, he has a reply: _Stop fucking up or fucking fix it._

*

Zayn fucks up again. He schedules meetings in LA. He doesn't have to. He could do it by Skype. He could meet with people in the New York offices. He could insist they fly out to see him in Pennsylvania. He doesn't have to make sure he has an evening free either, but he does that too.

He takes a car to Harry's. His gate code still works. He sends the car away.

Harry answers the door.

Zayn's heart stops and skips a beat. He steps in, up to Harry, and puts his hands on either sides of Harry's face to pull him into a kiss.

Harry's arms go around him, and he participates in the kiss as eagerly as Zayn does.

Harry reaches around him to push the door shut, and then they go back to focusing on each other.

Zayn needs to touch, puts his hands under Harry's shirt, palms his arse, digs his fingers into Harry's thigh when he hitches it up against him. Harry's just as eager; he cups the back of Zayn's head with one large hand, the other splayed across Zayn's back, holding him close.

They stumble upstairs together, groping and undressing, grabbing at each other, kissing like they'll never get enough. They go not to the heat room but to Harry's bedroom. It smells only and fully of him, him in himself, not him in heat the way the heat room would.

"Knot me," Harry says. It's a plea and a demand.

Zayn didn't come here for anything more than specific than Harry; he follows Harry's lead and nods. He pushes Harry down onto his back on the bed, still kissing him. He runs his hands down Harry's body, stroking his sides, his nipples, his hips. He nudges Harry's knees apart with his own.

He touches Harry's cock, leans forward to taste it.

"Fuck!" Harry's hips buck up into it.

Zayn smiles, and presses a last kiss to the tip of it before he puts his hand between Harry's legs and rubs the edge of his hole. He dips his fingers in. It's wet. Not as wet as the last time.

Zayn looks up at Harry, at his face so open with wanting. "Do you need lube?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, I'm good." He runs a hand down his own body, strokes his cock twice. "Knot me, please."

Zayn nods mutely and moves up to put his cock into Harry. They're not tied yet, and it's still perfect. They know how to move together to make it good, make them both sweat and yearn for more of exactly what they're doing.

Zayn looks down at Harry's face, different but the same as he used to see it. His heart skips a beat again.

Harry looks like he did at sixteen, when they knew it was a bad idea, but Zayn wanted it, and Harry said he wanted it, and he begged for it, and Zayn bit and bonded him.

Zayn does the stupidest thing he's done since then: he opens his side of the bond and pushes through it enough that Harry will be able to feel that he's done it.

Harry's eyes go wide. He breathes Zayn's name. He opens his side of the bond.

Want ricochets between them. Everything is amplified. Time seems to move in slow motion.

Harry surges up and captures Zayn's mouth with his. Zayn follows him down, and they stay connected everywhere for the eternity before Zayn knots and Harry comes.

Zayn looks down at Harry, at the bliss on his face, and his heart contracts.

"I can feel you looking at me." Harry opens his eyes, and he's smiling. He touches Zayn's face, tracing his cheekbones, the scruff along his jawline.

"You like being looked at," Zayn retorts. It's what he always used to say. It's like time hasn't passed at all.

Harry tips his head up in a clear request for a kiss that Zayn gives in to.

They kiss gently now, soft and tender with their hands and mouths while they're tied.

It won't work. They both know that. When they separate, Zayn kisses Harry one last time before he gets out of bed. He pulls on his briefs, the only piece of his clothing that made it into the bedroom, and turns away so he doesn't have to see Harry's face when he thins the bond out to the barest level of _I'm alive_ awareness.

*

Zayn goes home, to his farm, to his horse, to his studio where he can make music and be left alone. He writes some angry songs, some sad ones, some about fucking, only one that's maybe usable. He tries not to poke at the bond like a sore tooth.

He doesn't know until he answers the knock on his door that Harry's come to see him.

Harry doesn't wait for an invitation before pushing into the house and into Zayn's space. He takes Zayn's face in his hands and kisses him, just like Zayn did to him when he went to Harry's.

Harry smells like desire, like the first edges of wet, but not like heat. He's here for the same reason Zayn went to him, because he wants him.

Harry takes charge. He kisses Zayn and touches him. He pulls Zayn's clothes off, and his own. He pushes Zayn down on the floor right there inside the door and sinks down on his cock.

Zayn can feel Harry pushing against the bond, wave after wave of feeling that washes up against the smallest opening Zayn's left.

He can feel Harry tight and wet around his cock, riding him, taking and giving back all at once.

Harry leans down, hands on Zayn's chest. He kisses him, his mouth soft and warm on Zayn's. One hand covers Zayn's nipple. The other curves over his collarbone.

Zayn can't stop from touching him then, wraps his arms around Harry and sits up, carefully enough not to dislodge Harry, slowly enough that Harry can shift his legs around Zayn's hips, so they can be as close as two people can possibly be.

Harry hooks his arms around Zayn, curving them up so his hands grip Zayn's shoulders. He bites Zayn's shoulder, between Zayn's neck and his hand.

"Zayn, please."

Even without being able to feel Harry's feelings, Zayn knows he doesn't mean the fucking.

Zayn closes his eyes, sets his teeth against Harry's shoulder in turn, and opens up his side of the bond.

It rushes in on him. _Harry_ rushes in on him. The _wantwantwant_ reverberating between them is stronger this time than the last, more desperate. It's coming from both of them, the frantic need to be together, to all but consume each other.

It reaches its peak when Zayn knots and Harry comes around it, when there's just the barest sense that they're two separate people and not one being.

They cling to each other, panting into each other's mouths, fingers digging into each other's skin.

"I want this," Harry says. He's always been braver than Zayn in so many important ways. "I want you. I want us."

Zayn knows that Harry can feel that he wants it too, but he shakes his head. "It doesn't work. This works," he shifts his hip, pulling his knot against Harry's rim, "but the rest of it doesn't." He rests his forehead on Harry's shoulder. "You like attention and going out and being on stage. I like this." He gestures to the house, the farm. He doesn't know if Harry is looking. "I like doing my thing in peace and quiet."

"I know, but we can make it work. I'll come here, or you can come see me." Harry lets out a rough chuckle. "We have the money for that. We can figure it out." He puts his hands on Zayn's cheeks and pulls him up to look at him. "I love you."

Zayn shakes his head again. "You're bonded to me."

"Because I love you," Harry says, as stubborn now as he was at sixteen telling Zayn how much he wanted it. "I love you, _you_." He's pushing it through the bond. "Please." He says it plainly, not begging or insisting.

"Harry." Zayn closes his eyes.

Harry leans his forehead against Zayn's. "Don't tell me you don't," he murmurs. "I can tell you do."

Zayn lets out a sound that's half a laugh and half a sob. "I do," he says, because Harry's right, and he can feel that reverberating between them too. "I love you." He rolls his forehead against Harry's. "What if it all goes to shit again?"

"Don't let it," Harry says, as if it's that easy. "I won't let it, and you won't, and it'll work." He presses the softest, sweetest kiss to Zayn's lips. "It can work."

Zayn nods, and he can feel the rush of elation and triumph and sheer love swamping over him through the bond. "Okay," he says. "Okay."


End file.
